Things Sophie can tell her therapist twenty years from now

We have a nice compost pile, and we have a family of mice who attempt to live in that pile, and so, lately, we have had a very-satisfied cat. There are at least three mouse carcasses in our backyard right now and I didn’t look too closely to find the rest of the mouse-carnage that I’m sure is there.

So here’s my conundrum of the day: Should I let Sophie watch our cat chasing mice? On one hand, it’s pretty fascinating. Just yesterday, the cat let her mouse-of-the-day get a few feet away and then a bird swooped down and took off with that mouse. It was spectacular. But it’s also gruesome. Our cat likes to kill mice slowly, in a drawn-out cruel game. Sophie watches and says, “Uh-oh.”

Then, lately, Sophie seems excessively concerned for the little mouse in Good Night Moon. At least, she keeps pointing to it. Am I traumatizing my baby by letting her watch the natural vicious forces of nature? This is going to be one of the many decisions of how early to expose my baby to the cruelty of the world.

Here’s another conundrum. This morning, Sophie was playing with her new doll-house when I noticed that Ben had left the two dolls in a compromising position. They were in bed, legs intertwined. They looked like they were having a good time.

So I moved the dolls to the doll-house living room and re-positioned them with the woman doll on top. It seemed the obvious thing to do — until I mentioned this to someone else, who was a bit disturbed that I am exposing my baby to this whole R-rated dollhouse scenario. I’m pretty sure that Sophie is oblivious. At least, I hope she is oblivious. She’s much more interested in the doll-bedding than in whatever goes on in that doll-bed. She likes opening and closing the dollhouse door best of all. She’s not yet a full year-and-half yet, after all. But should I keep the dollhouse rated G?

You would think I would have my parenting philosophy all figured out by now, but I don’t.

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One response to “Things Sophie can tell her therapist twenty years from now”

When Annabelle (my Sophie’s older sister) was 2, we came home from a trip to find a gecko in the house. My husband Ray caught it in and put it in a jar and asked Annabelle what we should do with it. “Feed it to Ernie!” she said without hesitation. Ernie was our cat. Ray hesitated, but Annabelle insisted. She watched the action go down (I was NOT present for all of this, I’m certain I would have intervened or at least tried to) and instead of bursting into tears, said, “Good job, Ernie!” It’s been our family inside joke for years, every time someone does — well, really anything, we say it. Sadly, a neighbor dog got loose this summer and snapped Ernie in half.

I say you’re doing just fine in the parenting philosophy department — I know my own feelings change several times a day, at least!